


A new home

by embeer2004



Series: The barber surgeon and the sea [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Feels, Gen, Investigations, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protectiveness, loss (before fic), merman au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 05:02:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20222248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embeer2004/pseuds/embeer2004
Summary: Regis and Dettlaff arrive at Ard Skellig, their soon-to-be new home. A conversation overheard at the New Port inn leads the two vampires on a trip around the isle, in search of Gwynbleidd.





	A new home

**Author's Note:**

> This is set not too long after The Lonely Merman. As for Witcher timeline, what timeline? This is an AU!

The moment the ship moored Regis had to keep his composure and not just throw himself off the bow of the Atropos and onto the shore. Instead he waited until the gangway had been laid out and then he and Dettlaff were one of the first ones to disembark.  
  
Each of them carried a large bag with them, some personal belongings that would come in handy during this trip, and more of their belongings would arrive with another ship, as soon as Siarra finished up her business in Nazair.  
  
Dettlaff, unused to travelling by ship, was eager to leave as well after spending several days cooped up with so many humans around. Regis knew he had hardly slept all throughout the journey, sleep he desperately needed to recover, but the young vampire had stubbornly refused his offer of spending one day in one of the rooms the New Port inn provided, telling him that he was _fine _and that they should determine whether Gwynbleidd was still hanging around at the Giants’ Toes.  
  
Knowing that inns and taverns were one of the best places for obtaining information, Regis led Dettlaff over towards the New Port inn and, though it was only just past midday, the place was packed with Skelligers looking for a hot meal or drink. Regis was glad to see Jonas still behind the counter, he was one of the few islanders that had readily welcomed him when he’d set foot on Ard Skellig nearly two years ago.  
  
Dettlaff growled and stepped closer to the walls of the little inn, clearly feeling uncomfortable at seeing so many humans packed into such a small space.  
  
Regis held out his hand towards Dettlaff, pointing towards his bag, and when the younger vampire handed it over he placed both their bags under one of the tables near the fireplace and nudged Dettlaff. “Go, sit down by the fire, I’ll order us some drinks.” Seeing his brother settling down, he gave Dettlaff an encouraging smile before heading over towards Jonas. “Greetings, Jonas.”  
  
“Regis! You’ve returned!” The innkeep exclaimed jovially, slapping his shoulder. “Feared a monster had gobbled you up until Gremist told us you’d departed for the mainland.”  
  
Reaching for the strap of his shoulder satchel, Regis looked back towards Dettlaff, the unsettled feeling from one year ago rearing its head, like a slumbering snake twitching awake after someone poked it with a stick. “Family emergency,” was all he said, not wishing to speak further of it. It had been harrowing and trying times and the shock he’d gotten seeing Dettlaff upon his return to Nazair… Regis sighed and shook his head.  
  
“Could we have two tankards of mead, please?” He intended to stay here for a while, after all, catching up on gossip and other news was one of the main reasons for stopping by. Besides, Dettlaff needed some time to get used to the changes; to observe the Skellige folk from a distance, without necessarily interacting with them.  
  
“And some boar skin cracklings?” Jonas asked with a twinkle in his eyes.  
  
Regis was amused that the man had remembered and his mouth salivated at the thought of the savoury treat. “Now that would be lovely, Jonas, and a portion for my brother as well, if you please.”  
  
Snorting, the innkeep waved his hand. “Still a greedy bastard with those, I see. Go, I’ll have someone bring over your order in a moment. Warm yourselves by the fire.”  
  
Walking over to Dettlaff and sitting down next to him, Regis’ attention was drawn towards one of the tables where three patrons were having a heated conversation.   
  
A Skelliger woman slammed her fist down on the table, signing wildly with her other hand. “He’s a right loon, I say!”  
  
“He’s Ard Skellig’s saviour, so he said!” A man, sitting down across from her, objected.  
  
“You’re daft, Kraki. Our merman has been doing naught but sing on that rock, where’s the harm in that?”  
  
“It was a siren, catching travellers with its song… readying to lure them into the water.” The man next to Kraki butted in, drawing the woman’s ire towards him.  
  
“Don’t call him an _it_, he’s a merman, clear as day. I’ve seen him myself just a few weeks ago.” A dreamy look appeared in her eyes.  
  
A waitress arrived, interrupting Regis’ focus. A pity, he wished to know more about that whole situation, he was sure it was about Gwynbleidd.  
  
“Regis?” The waitress asked, surprised. “You’re back!” She joyfully set down their tankards of mead and two orders of cracklings in front of them and smiled warmly.  
  
Regis nodded. “Indeed. This here is my brother, Dettlaff.” He nodded at the young vampire. “We’re looking for a place to settle down, I was actually hoping to discuss this matter over with Gremist.” He didn’t want to be rude, but he was missing out on some juicy gossip at the other table.  
  
The waitress didn’t seem to notice anything though, looking over towards Jonas and inclining his head at him as she was obviously needed elsewehere on this busy day. “Well, I hope you’ll stay for some time. Gremist just isn’t the same, turned into an even more irritable old coot since you left and my youngest is still asking about you since you cured him from the wasting fever. Folk believed a wolf or a monster had gotten to you. At least, until Gremist told us you had to go. Glad to see with mine own eyes you’re all right.” She put her tray in front of her chest. “Well, I hafta go now, master Regis, but I hope to be seeing more of you… and your brother.” Nodding at the both of them, she hurried back towards a little section in the back that Regis knew to be the inn’s kitchen.  
  
Cradling his tankard, Dettlaff stayed silent beside him, his light eyes settling on human after human. There was a clear unease and discomfort in his eyes and the vampire’s shoulders were hunched, but he stayed still.  
  
Regis breathed in deeply and, with a kind smile, touched Dettlaff’s hand, feeling the small trembles under his palm. “How are you handling this, Dettlaff?”  
  
Rolling his hand, Dettlaff curled his own fingers around Regis’. “I am fine with these humans,” he told him, too soft for any human to make out, “or I will be. They smell different than…” he pulled back his hand and instead cradled his mead to his chest, ducking his head.  
  
With a sigh, Regis sat back so he could better observe the inn’s patrons. The scents of sea and strong alcohol overwhelmed him, but it was so different than the smell of still heat and oiled leather. Closing his eyes, Regis felt like a garkain had ripped open his chest and was furiously chewing on his heart, remembering what had happened to Dettlaff and his pack.  
  
A knee brushed against his and Regis opened his eyes. Dettlaff was still staring at the mead in front of him, but he’d pressed his leg up against him, his silent way of saying ‘I know’.  
  
One of the inn’s patrons, the woman Regis had been watching earlier, stood up, pressing her hands down on the table, and hissed at the man in front of her. “There’s no reasoning with you Arinbjorn folk! I can’t listen to this foolhardiness any longer.” And with that, the woman angrily stormed out of the inn, leaving the door wide open. One of the patrons sitting nearby quickly closed it, clearly displeased at the cold wind blowing in.  
  
“So you’re certain then?” The other man asked. “The siren’s dead, for real?”  
  
The first man nodded his head vigorously and picked up his tankard, downing the contents in one gulp. “Right ye are! Vigi said so, and the boy’s no liar. We should buy him an ale, Kori, celebrate his heroic feat wi’im!”  
  
The other man, Kori, nodded and raised his tankard. “Here’s to Vigi, saviour of Ard Skellig!”  
  
Regis started feeling ill. It had been a year now, but from the Skelligers’ conversation it seemed like this merman, or siren as the men were convinced (and it _had_ to be Gwynbleidd) had stayed in one place all year round. Not leaving. Perhaps… perhaps he’d been staying in place, hoping Regis would visit again? But from what these humans said… that had gotten him killed. His belly clenched tight with anguish and he pressed his arm against it, hunching over.  
  
Suddenly a light hand settled over his own, stroking softly, trying to get him to loosen the tight grip he’d had on his own shirt, forcing his fingers to let go. Regis looked up, seeing Dettlaff staring at him with pity in his eyes.  
  
“Vigi’s no saviour,” a heavily accented voice spoke up, drawing Regis’ attention to a large man. “Just an idiot boy. Heart’s in the right place, no doubt, but his reasoning skills are lacking.” Looking up, Regis took in the figure hulking over the little group of humans.  
  
“The man _is_,” one drunken patron, Kraki, Regis recalled, spoke up. “Took care of the monster, sent it back to the black deep abyss.”  
  
“Shut yur trap, Jorund…” Kori slurred, shooting the newcomer an evil glare.  
  
The giant, Jorund, leaned his hands on the table. “We all know the creature is harmless. It’s been sitting on that rock for months and no one’s been harmed. The monster population up north has even dwindled down since its arrival.”  
  
“Must be because it ate them! It was dangerous, I’m telling you, Vigi did us all a favour!” Kraki shouted, awkwardly flopping his hands at the man. “I refuse to speak of this matter any further with you, you’re spoiling our day!”  
  
Jorund stood up, dwarfing the humans at the table and looking no doubt intimidating to them, the way he made himself as tall as he could and crossing his arms over his chest. He cocked his head and seemed to make sure to glare at each man for a few good moments, refusing to leave. “Met Crach the other day, came from the Loon’s house.” He held up his hand, preventing any interruptions. “Said he’d knocked some sense into the boy.”  
  
Kori and Kraki both stood up, and Kraki shouted angrily. “What’s he done that for?!”  
  
The giant tapped his foot, getting impatient. “As jarl of this isle he has every right to protect and defend the ones living on Ard Skellig and its surrounding waters. His mind was set and it’s been done. The Loon will leave our Lonely Merman alone from now on.”  
  
Both men stilled and seemed to sober up a little. “Leave it alone?” Kori asked softly.  
  
Jorund nodded. “It survived, Crach’s seen it but a few days ago.”  
  
Kraki’s shoulders heaved as he put his hands underneath the table and in one fell swoop upturned the heavy piece of furniture. “Then the hunt is on!”  
  
Jorund stepped back, one hand hovering over the blade at his side for only a moment before he calmed down. “Don’t mind giving you a righteous knocking either. Leave… the creature… _alone_.”  
  
Kraki swung his arm, aiming for Jorund’s head, but the large man easily sidestepped him and hooked his ankle with his foot, causing Kraki to fall down. Then it was Kori who came over, trying to kick at Jorund’s chin, but the man was already so drunk that he lost his balance well before any contact could be made.  
  
Jorund crouched down next to the two, patting their cheeks. “Now be good lads, and go home to your wives.”  
  
“Kraki, Kori!” Jonas shouted, stalking towards them. “Not this again! I love a good brawl like any Skelliger, but don’t… brawl… _inside… _my inn! Out with yous! And don’t show yourselves around here until you’ve learnt to leave my furniture alone!”  
  
Regis blocked out the argument that was starting up between Jonas and the rowdy humans; instead, his eyes were glued on the giant heading for the door. He put his hand over Dettlaff’s and nodded towards Jorund. “I wish to speak with him,” he murmured softly.  
  
Abandoning his tankard, Dettlaff stood up and reached for their bags, handing one to Regis before heading towards the door, looking back to make sure he was right behind him. Then they started trailing Jorund, following after him as he first took a right turn after exiting the inn, crossed the small wooden bridge, and then turned right again, heading towards the docks. They followed him quietly.   
  
Just when Jorund was passing one of the drakkars being built, the man stopped and headed over to one of the worktables, waving at one of the ship wrights. He spotted them then, and quite easily too as they had no intentions of remaining unnoticed.  
  
Jorund walked towards them, his head tilted and his eyes squinting against the sunlight. “I’ve seen you before, you’re Gremist’s apprentice. Saved my nephew, two years ago. My heartfelt thanks for that, master Regis.”  
  
Caught off guard, Regis blinked, but looking closer he vaguely remembered seeing this man before, he just couldn’t recall where exactly. “And you are Jorund, correct?”  
  
“Correct. Jorund, son of Sigvald.” Jorund straightened up and Regis was mesmerised by his tall stature. “And who is your companion?”  
  
“My name is Dettlaff,” Dettlaff said quietly as he took a step forward, gently nudging Regis until he stood behind him. “Regis’ brother…” The young vampire tilted his chin up; even he had to look upwards at the man, and he put his hands on his hips, spreading his legs in a wide stance, making himself as tall and imposing as he could be without changing into one of his alternate forms.  
  
Regis smiled sadly. After what had happened last year Dettlaff had grown more protective of what remained of his pack; just Siarra and him now, really… Laying a gentle hand on Dettlaff’s shoulder, Regis lightly squeezed it, but made no move to step around his packmate. His eyes sought out Jorund’s and he noticed the curious glint in the man’s eye. “Inside the New Port, you spoke of a merman…”  
  
Jorund’s eyes narrowed and his shoulders twitched, muscles tightening up and he took a step closer towards them, a menacing glint in his eyes. “What of it?”  
  
A low growl escaped Dettlaff, startling Jorund, and the young vampire looked up at the giant. “The merman…” he gritted out, “is a friend of Regis.”  
  
“What happened?” Regis asked, peaking around Dettlaff’s shoulder. “Those men, they believed him dead.” His breathing sped up. Calm… he needed to calm himself. “What you said…”  
  
“We wish to know if Gwynbleidd’s alive,” Dettlaff finished for him, his tone a bit softer.  
  
Blinking, Jorund relaxed his stance and took a step back and, immediately, the tension that had been in the air disappeared. Huh. Regis hadn’t even noticed it settling on them this heavily, but now that it had lifted he felt like a weight had been removed from his chest.  
  
“So it’s true? They’re a sapient race? Gwynbleid…” The man’s gaze turned inwards and he bit his lip. “Sounds like an elven name if you ask me.”  
  
Regis nodded. He could tell this man everything he had learnt of merfolk and their origins, but this wasn’t the time! “He’s definitely sapient. Merfolk, in general, are sapient and very intelligent; even sirens and ekidhna, though they tend to let their instincts rule them instead of reason…” His hand, which was still lying on Dettlaff’s shoulder, started twitching nervously. “And he’s my friend. After what I overheard at the inn, I need to know…”  
  
“It’s alive,” Jorund immediately assured, looking over his shoulder. “My hut is not far from here, just a ways farther down these docks. Follow me and I’ll tell you what I know.”  
  
The garkain chewing on his heart let up and a pang of hope shot through Regis as both he and Dettlaff followed the man to his hut.  
  
Jorund invited them to sit at the table and they took him up on his offer; Dettlaff a bit hesitant. Looking around at the dark hut, built out of stone and lacking any windows, Regis could understand why. Dettlaff’s home in Nazair had existed partially of caves, connected to Dettlaff’s house, which was similarly built along the style Nazairi humans used… there had been many large windows, and only light curtains to block out the sun’s glare. Dettlaff loved the sun and he’d been drawn towards the light for as long as Regis remembered. His alps and bruxae hadn’t minded the light either, though the lesser vampires tended to avoid the upstairs during the day, and instead slept in the caves beneath, only coming up when the sun had set.  
  
Shaking his head, Regis sighed. That home was no more…  
  
Letting Dettlaff take the seat nearest an already merrily twinkling fireplace, Regis sat down next to him, making sure to keep some distance, as humans saw fit to do. They wouldn’t be here for long though.  
  
“Tell us, Jorund, son of Sigvald,” Regis started, “what did you wish to tell us that you couldn’t do outside?”  
  
Jorund sat down across from them and leaned his elbows on the table, closing the distance between them. “Kori and Kraki are Arinbjorn idiots pigheaded enough to try and become long-eared bushes,” he replied cryptically, shrugging as he leaned back, sitting back more comfortably as his eyes roved of the both of them in a scrutinising fashion, making a decision. “Like I said, the merman, Gwynbleidd, is alive. When I ran into Crach an Craite, jarl of this isle, a few days ago I caught him just as he was storming out of Vigi the Loon’s hut.”  
  
“Vigi the Loon,” Dettlaff murmured quietly, “the one said to have killed this… _siren._”  
  
Jorund nodded. “Just so. I’ve known Crach for a long time, him and I are mates… so I asked him what got him so riled up. He told me he’d just returned from a visit to Redgill and found something unexpected. There was a small pack of drowned ones along the shore, huddling over something, pushing it around. Fearing it was one of the villagers, Crach hurried over and killed the monsters, only getting a good look then at what the drowned ones had been hovering over. Crach called it a nixa, an albino pale as milk, though with eyes like a cat, and it had somehow ended up entangled in a fishing net.”  
  
Regis breathed in deeply, causing Jorund’s gaze to settle on him with an intent look.   
  
“Looked like the creature had been too long out of the water already,” Jorund continued, “it was listless, dried up… had no chance of defending itself, trapped as it was. Crach knows the stories as well as I do. There’s been a creature up north, at the Giants’ Toes; some say it’s a siren, or a nixa, others called it a merman. Islanders have been fondly calling it the Lonely Merman, as there have been multiple sighting of the creature, singing sorrowful songs at the toes. Whatever it is, it seems to have been taking care of the monster population and I myself am grateful of that.”  
  
“That sounds like _him_,” Regis stressed, hating his friend being referred to as an ‘it’. “That sounds like Gwynbleidd. What happened next?”  
  
Jorund calmly held out his hand, palm down. “Him… right. Crach cut him free of the net and took him into the sea,” he continued, “cold water seemed to revive him like it was something magic and the nixa twisted loose, thanked Crach, and swam off.”  
  
“When was this? What of his state?” Regis asked, desperate to know more.  
  
Jorund shook his head. “Crach encountered him… four days ago? Thereabouts… Only things the jarl said about his state was that the nixa seemed fine, he even breached like a whale, before disappearing under the water.”  
  
The worry that had been gnawing at Regis before started up again. Four days… four days after he’d been found by the jarl, how long before that did this Vigi attack him? How long had he been lying there on land, imprisoned and alone? Regis knew all too well the rush of adrenalin settling into mortal beings, allowing them feats of incredible strength. Had Gwynbleidd truly been all right, or was the behaviour Crach had seen like one of these feats? He had to know… he had to find him and make sure that his friend was truly all right.  
  
“That’s all I know,” Jorund finished, swiping his arm in a light bow. “That, and folk at the New Port have started lamenting the disappearance of their Lonely Merman. Islanders would find their way over to the north, one way or another, bringing back tales, and when the night’s windy one could hear a low voice singing on the air. But it’s been quiet for at least a week now. Ever since Vigi blew the horn.”  
  
Dettlaff frowned and tapped his fingers on the underside of the table. “How is the horn relevant?”  
  
Jorund nodded. “Ah, you are outlanders, of course you wouldn’t know. It’s a special type of horn: the Hornwall horn. If one blows on it, the sound causes sirens and the like to drop from the sky. Buggers really hate it, seems to pain them even… they get distracted enough for a Skelliger to draw an axe and have at it.”  
  
Regis nodded thoughtfully. Spending time with Gwynbleidd he’d deduced early on that the merman had an extremely enhanced sense of hearing, likely even more than his and Dettlaff’s going by his reaction to him their first few meetings. The moment he’d spoken with a quiet voice, Gwynbleidd had stopped hissing and flicking water at him. Regis could well imagine that a horn’s call, and this one in particular, would have been extremely unpleasant, perhaps even painful, as Jorund speculated.  
  
“Where’s the horn now?” Regis asked.  
  
Jorund stared at something behind him intently before shaking himself out of his doze. “Crach took it away from Vigi. Didn’t trust the boy not to try again, or to attack a truly wild siren and end up shredded in the process.”  
  
“You mentioned Crach saw him at Redgill?” Regis tried to pinpoint the little village in his mind’s map and realised it was all the way on the eastern shore of Ard Skellig.  
  
Jorund nodded. “That’s where the jarl spotted him, but you know how it goes…”  
  
“He wouldn’t have stayed in the same spot,” Dettlaff grumbled lowly. “He wouldn’t have returned to where he’d been attacked.” A painful look passed over the vampire’s face. “He’d lay low for a while, then find another spot.”  
  
Regis brushed his knee lightly against Dettlaff’s, feeling his pain. “Rightly so, but we know more than we did just an hour ago, and have learnt that he survived the encounter.”  
  
Without warning, Dettlaff stood up, his hands, balled tightly into fists, trembling at his side. “We will be on our way now,” he managed to grit out slowly, inclining his head at the human before hurrying outside.  
  
Jorund stood up as well, a frown marring his face as he stared at the ground, his eyes trailing upwards towards the quickly fleeing Dettlaff. “He all right?” The man asked, a hint of real worry in his voice. “Looked like he was being chased by the stormriders.”  
  
Clenching his teeth, Regis got up, his hand automatically reaching for the strap of his shoulder satchel. He shook his head. No, Dettlaff was not all right, not by a long shot. “Some type of spectre, yes,” he muttered, and with that remark he gave Jorund a small bow. “Thank you, Jorund, I cannot express how much I am grateful for you telling us what you did.”  
  
“Sorry to hear about your brother, master Regis, and good luck. I hope you find your friend, alive and well…”  
  
Nodding, Regis quickly hurried out the door, relieved when he was under the open sky again. He found Dettlaff standing not too far away, next to one of the unfinished drakkars. The vampire was standing with his back towards the water, focused on Jorund’s house, and Regis had to squint a bit against the sunlight. It was later than he had expected, in a few hours the sun would set.  
  
Regis walked closer to Dettlaff and, making sure they were well out of sight of curious eyes, wrapped his arms around his packmate in a full blown embrace; one hand coming up to stroke the back of the vampire’s neck. Slowly, Dettlaff’s trembling stilled and it was only then that Regis stepped back.  
  
“The sun’ll be going down in a few hours.”  
  
Dettlaff grunted before tilting his head. “That’s the time he usually arrives. You wish to search for him.”  
  
Worrying his lip, Regis looked at the hills behind them. “You were right, Dettlaff. After the incident with the horn, Gwynbleidd will surely not be hanging around his favourite spot up at the Giants’ Toes.” A sense of dull panic enveloped him. Perhaps it was already too late and he would never see Gwynbleidd again. After all, the sea was vast and large and the merman could literally go anywhere he pleased.  
  
“You shouldn’t give up so soon, Regis.” Dettlaff reached for his chin and tilted it up, giving him a sad little smile. “And we have the time. Finding him is one of the reasons you wanted to return to Ard Skellig, was it not?”  
  
Regis sighed. “You know it was. I’d hoped we could settle in Gedyneith, a quiet place, I’m sure you’ll love it, but indeed… I had not expected this news.”  
  
“We can circle the island; if he’s anywhere near the shore then we’re bound to be able to spot him. A white merman, after all, is quite unique.”  
  
“If he’s anywhere even _near_ the shore!”  
  
“Regis!” Dettlaff raised his voice a bit, trying to get his attention. “We will search for him. If he’d been sticking around this island for one year already there must have been something that bound him to this place. He wouldn’t willingly leave.”  
  
“He would have died if Crach hadn’t found him! Willing or not has nothing to do with it now!”  
  
“Regis,” Dettlaff sighed sadly, “we shall find your friend, have faith.”  
  
Regis snorted. Faith. Well… he could be very tenacious when he wanted to. “All right, Dettlaff.”  
  
~*~  
  
They’d misted up afterward, travelling closely to the shoreline. It was dusk when they arrived at the Giants’ Toes, and, as expected, Gwynbleidd wasn’t there. Nor had he arrived two hours later. So he really had left his favourite spot.  
  
Regis gritted his teeth, a wash of hatred sweeping through him at the thought of Vigi the Loon. He must have been hissing, for Dettlaff nudged his shoulder and pointed south.  
  
Misting up again, they travelled onward, past the whale graveyard and on to Redgill, one of the smallest villages Regis had ever seen. They materialised into their human forms and, together with Dettlaff, he walked along the shore, tracing a bit backwards in a northern direction to see if he could find _any _clue here. But there was nothing. No markings, no monster carcasses. Just a quiet, sleeping village. No Gwynbleidd…  
  
Dettlaff gently prodded him, jerking his chin towards the east and misting up again, swirling over the water towards a large rocky outcrop jutting out of the water. They immediately spotted the remains of a ship with an odd logo on the hull, and dragmarks going up a light slope, leading them to the body of a man. Regis would have shaken his head if he’d been in a corporeal form, instead, he nudged Dettlaff’s black-red mist over the water, to the next visible rocky outcrop.  
  
Nothing.  
  
They both returned to the island’s shore and continued their travel, materialising every now and then to get a breather. They’d agreed to make a complete circle of the isle at night-time. And again, and again… and if they found no clue as to Gwynbleidd’s whereabouts they would move on to one of the other isles and search there. They could invoke the aid of their raven friends and, should worst come to worst, they could ask a druid for help, though Regis had no idea if one could actually scry for someone with just a description; perhaps an oneiromancer would be better capable of aiding them.  
  
A small smile settled on his face. An oneiromancer _could _actually be a very, _very_ good idea if he and Dettlaff couldn’t find Gwynbleidd in a decent time. With a bit more hope in his heart Regis swirled after his packmate, continuing their search.  
  
They’d been searching for many more hours than Regis had realised, for all too soon the sun rose in the east, illuminating the sky and creating purple-pinkish colours. Shoulders drooping, he sighed; both he and Dettlaff had travelled a great distance this night and yet, still hadn’t discovered anything. He felt a bit disheartened at their ill progress.  
  
Making sure there was no one around to spot them, they materialised somewhere along the road between Fyresdal and the Elverum lighthouse.  
  
The lighthouse… Regis snorted. The tall structure offered a good vantage point over both land and sea, but in day time there was bound to be as much chance of finding Gwynbleidd as there was to find a needle in a haystack.  
  
Looking back over at Dettlaff he noticed the dark circles underneath the young vampire’s eyes. All this swirling around had exhausted Dettlaff, who was still, after all, recovering. A pang of guilt shot through Regis; of course Dettlaff hadn’t complained about needing to rest, his brother never did. He would need to keep a better eye on him.  
  
With a lighthouse, came a lighthouse keeper, and no doubt a hut or a dwelling closeby. “Dettlaff, if we travel a bit farther south we shall reach the Elverum lighthouse. I’m feeling quite tired after an entire night of swirling about, would you be opposed to us going over there? I’m sure the keeper will receive us, allowing us to catch our breaths, as it were.”  
  
Dettlaff’s eyes gleamed with suspicion as he looked back at him, but he slowly nodded. “Lead the way.”  
  
~*~  
  
When they arrived at the lighthouse both vampires froze. There was a man, a _naked _man, running around it, rushing after what seemed to be different pieces of clothes that were blown about by a strong wind.  
  
“Agnetha! I promise you, you are the only woman I love!”  
  
Regis’ eyes were drawn upwards, towards the stairs leading up to the lighthouse. A woman stood there, her dark hair kept from whipping about her head by a purple cap. She was clutching what seemed to be a lute, and held it tightly in front of her body. “You swine! You _fiend! _I heard from Eryka what you’ve been up to!” She lifted the instrument.  
  
“Not my lute!” The man shouted in a high squeaky voice.  
  
“The lute? That’s all you care about? Arrrgh!” And with that Agnetha tossed the instrument down the hill.  
  
“No!” The naked man abandoned his clothing and ran after it, oblivious to the woman angrily stalking off.  
  
“You’ll want to avoid this _scoundrel_,” she told them when she came up to their level. “He’s a lecher… and a liar. A good for nothing Northener! I should have listened to my Da!” She didn’t wait for their reply though and continued onwards, holding her robes up high to avoid some of the muddier parts on the road.  
  
Dettlaff’s brows lowered and he took a step back, perplexed. His eyes were focused on the naked man, who had been reunited with his lute and seemed to be… _cooing?... _at it, stroking the wood.  
  
The man looked up in their direction suddenly and he squeaked, holding the lute in front of his body. “This is not what it seems like!” He yelled and Regis was surprised at hearing his Redanian accent. “I can tell you one thing though, the oh so lovely and sweet Agnetha Skold has a temper on her!”  
  
Regis looked over at Dettlaff, trying to determine his response to this weird man. Seeing the vampire’s hands relaxed at his sides he felt it was safe to approach. “A woman scorned is a fury,” he told the odd man.  
  
“And right you are, good sir, but it was all a misunderstanding. You see, Eryka is just mad. Told me the boy’s mine but I’ve only been on this island for six months. She’s clearly lying!” The man awkwardly shuffled over to the pile of clothing he’d discarded earlier. “Perhaps Astrid is behind this?” Regis could hear him muttering despite the rush of the wind.  
  
“Come, Regis,” Dettlaff drawled tiredly, “the inn we passed just before Fyresdal will serve.”  
  
Regis nodded, willing to follow Dettlaff on this; the vampire clearly felt uncomfortable. “We should get us an order of their roast lamb, I’ve heard it’s the best around.”  
  
Dettlaff grunted and started walking down the path.  
  
“Wait!” The naked man exclaimed. “Regis? As in _Reejus_?”  
  
Regis stilled, his heart shooting to his throat. He touched Dettlaff’s hand and tilted his head up so he could meet his brother’s gaze. He could see the muscles in Dettlaff’s jaw clenching, but his packmate squeezed lightly and, together, they slowly turned around.  
  
Regis waited for the awkward man to put on some trousers, his mind filling with thoughts and speculations.  
  
“It is you, isn’t it?” The man asked, rushing off to pick up his shirt and pulling it on before moving back to his lute and gathering it up carefully like it was his precious baby. “Here on Ard Skellig there’s no one, to my knowledge, with that name. Oh, but where are my manners, though no doubt you’ve heard of me it’s always polite to be introduced proper. You may call me Dandelion.”  
  
Dettlaff sniffed and took a step forward, pointing a finger at the man’s lute. “As in the poet and minstrel?”  
  
A fire seemed to have ignited in the man’s eyes at that. “So you _have _heard. Well, of course you have. Yes, I am Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, but you may call me Dandelion, songwriter and poet extraordinare… and you are?”  
  
Regis knew his eyes had to be lighting up at hearing that. He did love the fruits that bards and skjalds bore. What was Dandelion doing here, at the Elverum lighthouse on Ard Skellig of all places? “My name is Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, aspiring barber surgeon under Gremist’s tutelage, or at least I was under his tutelage, but I’m sure I will be again soon… And this here is my brother, Dettlaff.”  
  
Dandelion’s head swivelled towards the young vampire and his eyebrows jerked upwards in surprise. “Dettlaff… I’ve heard your name as well.” The bard looked over their shoulders and jerked his chin towards something behind them. “Follow me, my friends. I don’t know about you, but I am starving! Agnetha and I finished up all the snacks during the night.” He pointed a thumb back towards the lighthouse.  
  
Regis frowned. “How did you manage to avoid the lighthouse keeper? Surely the man would have objected to any… uhhm… romantic escapades happening under his roof?”  
  
Dandelion widened his stance and tilted his head back, puffing out his chest as he did so, looking all proud. “You are looking at him, good masters!”  
  
“A viscount and bard…” Dettlaff started, “turned lighthouse keeper…” Regis heard the soft rumble settling in his brother’s chest, a growl too quiet for human ears. Turning his gaze towards Dettlaff’s hands, Regis was pleased to see that they were still held loosely at his side. Good.  
  
The human’s stomach rumbled loudly and a light blush appeared on his cheeks. “Please, follow me. Like I said, I’m starving and from the way you just spoke it seems like you’ve been travelling for a long while. Perhaps…” and Dandelion looked at them expectantly, subconsciously stroking his lute, “looking for our mutual friend? Come now…” He trailed off and walked past them, gesturing for them to follow.  
  
Regis’ ears perked up. This man was not all that he seemed, apparently. Such a strange little human… A butterfly fluttered in his chest at Dandelion’s words and the hope he’d been pitifully protecting inside his heart grew larger, started feeling _real _instead of like a fool’s hope.  
  
They didn’t walk far until Regis spotted a small hut overseeing the cliff-face, the lighthouse well in sight. He’d always thought that lighthouse keepers lived inside their lighthouses, until he’d met up with the keeper of the Eldberg lighthouse. Apparently lighthouses were terribly noisy due to their circular and tall build, and the keepers preferred living in a warm and comfortable hut nearby; after all, when the weather changed, and here on the isles it could change within an hour, they would need to be able to light the fire as quickly as they could. Ships could crash all too easily as it was, here in these rough waters with rocks hidden only just beneath the surface.   
  
“Welcome to my humble abode.” Dandelion bowed deeply, extending one leg in front of him and sweeping one arm outwards from his chest. “Well, my abode until I have earned enough coin to buy my passage back to the mainland.”  
  
Dettlaff went in first, and Regis knew the vampire was scouring out the place, making sure there were no hidden surprises. When they’d boarded the Atropos he’d done similar rounds all over the ship, learning every nook and cranny and memorising all the faces of their mortal companions. He’d been alert the entire trip, not even able to relax when they were in their well-paid for cabin; watching the door even as Regis pressed close to him as they’d lain down to sleep. He’d been tempted to use his powers on Dettlaff to nudge his brother into some true rest, but the vampire had made his viewpoint on that terribly clear before and Regis hadn’t dared to go against his wishes.  
  
“Fish tails?” Dettlaff asked, looking back at the bard with narrow eyes.  
  
Regis walked past Dandelion into the little hut, taking in glowing embers in the fireplace. The human must have let the fire burn all through the night…  
  
Dandelion hurried past him, looking a bit abashed. “For breakfast!” He nearly shouted, taking the bucket of fish tails from the table and depositing it into what appeared to be a little kitchen area. Then his shoulders hunched and for a moment Regis was worried, until he heard the laughter bubbling out of the man’s mouth. “Apologies, my new friends…” he said, wiping away a tear rolling down his cheek, his eyes twinkling with merriment. “I had some… unwanted guests before. Couldn’t well tell them the truth, now could I? Please, sit down, sit down!”  
  
Regis could feel his eyebrows twitching. He didn’t understand…  
  
“I like raw fish,” Dettlaff spoke suddenly, “especially with horseradish paste.”  
  
Regis blinked. He hadn’t known that little tidbit. His mouth started watering at the thought of salmon pieces dipped in briny broth, and the horseradish paste on top sounded exquisite. His own stomach let loose a grumble and immediately he pressed his arm against it, wishing to still the noise.  
  
“Ah, I see I am not the only one with an appetite! And what about you, Dettlaff? You look like you could fall right over at any minute, sit down! And I demand that you stay for a while after breakfast. I can row you up to the Grotto later in the day…”  
  
Tilting his head, Regis took one of the pillows lying on the floor and sat down on it. “To the Grotto?”  
  
Dandelion stuck his head out of the kitchen. “Why yes, you’re looking for Gwynbleidd, are you not?”  
  
Regis set down his own bag beside him and patted the pillow next to him, watching Dettlaff place down his own bag right next to his before sitting down as well, arranging himself just right so that he had a view of both the front door and the little kitchen. “How do you know we can be trusted?”  
  
The sound of pottery banging softly against a wooden counter sounded from the kitchen; the bard was clearly puttering away, preparing _something_. “Like I said. I recognise your names, and I do not believe in coincidences. Regis and Dettlaff… Gwynbleidd has mentioned you.”  
  
Regis felt his heart beating loudly against his sternum. “You speak Hen Linge?”  
  
Dandelion waved a hand at them, the only part visible of him. “Amonst other languages, and let’s not forget dialects! After all, it’s quite a peculiar dialect of Elder Speech that Gwynbleidd sings.”  
  
“Tell me,” Regis blurted out, “tell me how he is?”  
  
Dandelion appeared then, carrying a large platter with an assortment of sliced lamb meat, yoghurt sauce, chickpea mash and sour bread, and a large jug of what smelled like cherry juice. He had a sad smile on his lips as he set the platter down on the floor and took a pillow for himself. “He is fine, Regis. Or, well… as fine as he can be, considering the circumstances. Alive, but weakened. Healing… but _alive_.”  
  
Regis’ fingers reached up to the fabric over his chest, willing his heart to stay _inside_. “When did you see him last?”  
  
Nudging some glasses in their direction, Dandelion tore off a piece of the bread and dipped it into the chickpea mash. “I saw him just yesterday, went over there in the afternoon and returned a few hours after dusk.” A sorrowful look appeared on the man’s face and he started fiddling with another piece of torn-off bread. “He’s been sleeping a lot these last few days.” The bard’s eyes turned hazy, clearly seeing something in his mind’s eye.  
  
Dettlaff reached for a slice of lamb’s meat and dipped it into the yoghurt sauce, making a pleased little sound as he tasted it and he eagerly took another slice, his appetite awakened.  
  
Regis’ gut on the other hand had twisted into knots at Dandelion’s last words and he swallowed dryly, not feeling hungry anymore. So he hadn’t been as all right as Crach had believed.  
  
Dettlaff, noticing he wasn’t eating, tore off a piece of the bread and, hesitating, dipped it in the yoghurt and held it out to him, giving him an encouraging smile. “You should eat, Regis.” The look he gave him said much more though and reminded Regis of all the times in the last year that he’d been trying to get Dettlaff to eat… to sleep.  
  
“You’re right, Dettlaff.” Regis took the bread from him and started nibbling on it, and the moment he tasted it the knot in his gut released and he felt ravenous.  
  
Dandelion jerked, as though something had startled him back to the present. He stood up and walked over to the corner, where he’d placed his lute, and took it back with him, carefully sitting down with the instrument in his lap. He started fiddling with the strings and turning the pegs alternatively. Regis was surprised that the instrument had survived the fall without any visible damage, actually. Fiddling around with his lute for a bit longer, Dandelion finally seemed to give up and lay it down, clearly unhappy at the sounds he’d obtained. “Do you know what happened to him?”  
  
Regis worried at another piece of bread. “We know some part of the tale, but not all.”  
  
Dandelion nodded. “Well, then I shall tell you what he told me. Gwynbleidd showed up at the shore near this lighthouse and I wouldn’t have know he was there if he hadn’t called for me.” The bard shivered. “He sang too quickly for me to make out any words, but I know his voice pretty well and man, let me tell you, the acoustics of this area are great!” He settled himself again, visibly calming himself. “I ran down to the shore and was shocked when I took in his state, he clearly needed help.” Dandelion circled a hand around his face. “He didn’t recognise me at first, put on his war face…”  
  
“War face?” Dettlaff asked, looking as puzzled as Regis felt.  
  
“Yes, war face,” Dandelion agreed. “Have you ever seen a siren or an ekidhna attack? The way that their lovely faces change? I think they resemble one of those fish of the deep, an angler fish?”  
  
Dettlaff shook his head. “I have not, nor have I seen an… angler fish?”  
  
Regis turned thoughtful. “I have seen sirens attack. An angler fish is actually not a bad description for what their faces turn into.”  
  
“Yesyes.” Dandelion picked at some strings, his fingers moving automatically. The tune sounded nearly right, to Regis’ ears at least. “Well, Gwynbleidd’s war face is a bit like that, but a bit more like a wolf-fish. Which is actually a neat coincidence, seeing as his name means…”  
  
“White wolf,” both Regis and Dandelion said at the same time.  
  
A large grin broke out on Dandelion’s face and he looked extremely pleased.  
  
Regis felt a blush warming his cheeks. “Learning Hen Linge was one of the things I set out to do before returning here,” he told the bard, “Gwynbleidd and I have never actually been able to hold a conversation and I desperately wanted to.”  
  
Dandelion nodded energetically. “Oh, he told me all about your _humming_. He’ll be pleased, he’s been wondering how you’ve been doing all this time. Returning to the Giants’ Toes…” His face turned serious again and a wry smile appeared on his lips. “Did you know that some folk on this island have adopted him as Ard Skellig’s mascot? He’d been up there for so long, singing wistful songs, that folk have dubbed him the Lonely Merman… and word has spread that he’s waiting for someone. That he’s pining away for his one true love.”  
  
Regis frowned and Dandelion snorted.  
  
“I know, I know it isn’t like that between you two, but…” Dandelion’s brows furrowed, “well, actually, that is not my tale to tell, but… he’s been through much. The reason Gwynbleidd’s been hanging around these isles though is because there’s an underwater cave east of Hindarsfjall; it’s the same location that he and his brothers return to every year. Oh, they meet on the road… the current?” Dandelion started muttering under his breath. “Well, it’s not just a current he’s travelling on, through, whatever, he goes well wherever he pleases,” then in a louder voice decided, “_path_. So, he meets up with other merfolk wherever he goes, but last year his brothers didn’t return, and he kept waiting for them, hoping they’d show up.”  
  
Regis breathed in deeply. So Gwynbleidd had been worrying about his brothers. “Did they ever show up?”  
  
Dandelion’s eyes turned to him, intent in their focus and, slowly, he shook his head. “Now this doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Males, _mermen, _tend to be solitary for the most part, travelling the sea. Some, though, have areas they consider a home, like Gwynbleidd and his brothers, and they protect some creatures from large predators. Any message of their delay could have been lost, and it has happened before, but Gwynbleidd didn’t want to set out again, instead sent out messengers himself to obtain any news for him. He didn’t want to risk missing them…”  
  
Waiting… waiting in uncertainty for all this time. Not knowing whether his brothers were all right or not. Regis stole a quick glance at Dettlaff, who was listening intently, his head tilted to the side as he kept staring at Dandelion.  
  
Picking up one of the glasses, Dandelion took a long draw from it, smacking his lips afterwards. “Ah, that’s better. Now, back to the actual story. So, Gwynbleidd didn’t recognise me, at first, and he put on his war face, but then…” and here the bard’s cheeks and even the tips of this ears turned a furious red. “Well, I screamed. Like a… girl,” he whispered, “and I’m not really afraid to admit that. I mean, I’ve got a right and fearful piercing scream. Anyway, that seemed to be the moment he realised that it was _me _and he quieted down, let me approach. Told me he needed help…”  
  
Regis looked back over at Dettlaff, but the vampire was lying there, seemingly lazy like a cat, sated from their meal, but Regis could hear his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He was drawn into the story, listening intently.  
  
“He looked exhausted and like he hadn’t eaten in days, so I told him to stay still for a moment and rushed back to my hut, to get him something, all the while hoping that the stubborn merman would actually stay where he was! Oh, you don’t know yet how stubborn he can be, Regis!” Dandelion clapped his hands over his temples and shook his head, an image of frustration if Regis ever saw one…  
  
Lowering his hands, Dandelion breathed in deeply for a moment. “I managed to get the full tale out of him after that. He told me that some idiot blew a shrill horn and apparently it froze him up, not to mention it left his ears ringing for hours. By the time he came back to himself he’d found himself entangled in a fishing net, caught on the drift. Eventually he washed up ashore somewhere, but he couldn’t free himself and… He was dying, suffocating on dry land for two days before a human found him and cut him loose.”  
  
Regis gasped, shocked and horrified. Two days was so long, especially for a being helplessly imprisoned and suffocating. He felt a hand settle on his knee and he shot Dettlaff a grateful look.  
  
“Yeah, I know, it makes me sick just thinking of it,” Dandelion commiserated. “Now, I would have happily taken him in and tended to him up here, but that would have meant leaving Gwynbleidd out in the open; there are no good hiding places of any kind around and he refused to be carried to my hut, furiously hissing at me that he was not a gold fish and wouldn’t be kept as a pet.” He sighed, exasperated. “Of course he’s not a pet, I know that! But it was for the best, I mean… I told you about my unwanted visitors just before, right? They’d have skinned him and nailed his stuffed body to the mantle, like a sick trophy.”  
  
“Do not dwell on past decisions,” Dettlaff said tiredly, “or on hasty words said while one is in pain.” The vampire’s eyes swiftly glanced at Regis before settling on their host again.  
  
Dandelion nodded and he tilted his head, first right, then left, creating a horrible cracking noise that gave Regis goose bumps. “I know, I know, Dettlaff. It’s just… difficult seeing my friend in such a state. I just wanted to help…”  
  
“Oh, but I’m sure he knows,” Regis patted Dettlaff’s knee, looking at Dandelion as he spoke. “The man that freed Gwynbleidd; Jorund, told us it was the jarl Crach an Craite…”  
  
“Good man, him,” Dandelion sighed, “he’s got heart for his people, apparently sea-dwellers are included in that… So,” he breathed in deeply, “there are no good hiding places here, but I knew of a good one, one that not even Gwynbleidd knew of. I got him to agree to being swaddled up in a wet blanket, managed to get him onboard my little boat and sailed him over to the Grotto, where he’s been holing up these last few days. Eating… resting… recovering… And I’ve been visiting him every day since; I need to, all his energy’s going to healing, he can’t hunt right now…”  
  
“Is that related to your fish tails?” Dettlaff nodded his head to the kitchen, where Dandelion had stowed the bucket.  
  
Dandelion wildly waved his arms about as he spoke. “Ah, well, you wouldn’t believe how much Gwynbleidd eats! It’s a good thing I know how to fish, and that the fish are plentiful in this region, or he would have skinned my coin-purse within a day!”  
  
Dettlaff’s gaze turned thoughtful. “You’ve been giving him fish. He’s a sea creature, why not just give him the fish whole?”  
  
The bard actually looked scandalised. “Like a barbarian? He _hates _the tails!”  
  
Regis couldn’t help it. He’d started nibbling on the piece of bread he’d still been holding, but now he tried to keep his lips together to prevent it from spattering out. Nonetheless, he made a small snort of laughter at imagining Gwynbleidd daintily eating with a napkin tied around his neck, holding a fork and knife in his hands, a pile of fish on one plate, a pile of fish tails on another. He cupped his hand over his mouth and tried to focus on swallowing before he choked on his little morsel.  
  
Smiling widely, Regis cocked his head. “What about the heads? Do you have a similarly filled bucket of heads lying about as well?”  
  
Crossing his arms over his chest, Dandelion looked at them, still looking affronted. “Of course not! The head… the fish cheeks and their eyes are the best bits! Gwynbleidd has fun sucking out the eyes…”  
  
Regis winced, imagining that scene. He’d never grown a fondness for any kind of dish still containing an animal’s eyes, like the lamb broth with extra eyeballs that the Skelligers were fond of. As long as he didn’t end up with eyes in his own bowl he could eat it though, same for fish soup, but eyes themselves as a treat? A shiver passed through him at the thought.  
  
“All right, Dandelion. You have made me,” Regis looked at Dettlaff and amended his words, “_us_, curious as to how a Redanian bard like yourself met up with Gwynbleidd… Would you tell us your story?”  
  
Dettlaff leaned forward a bit, seeming to have more difficulty keeping awake as he kept blinking slowly, fighting sleep. Regis knew it frustrated his brother to no end that his body forced him into stillness… needing rest to recover from his ordeal. Oh, he was mostly all right now, but after a stressful voyage followed by a round-trip arround the isle in their mist forms even Regis was feeling the strain and wished for some rest.  
  
Glancing furtively at Dandelion, Regis met the man’s eyes and nodded towards the pillows. The bard, thank the stars, didn’t seem to need any explanation as he cleared away the by now empty plate before returning, picking up his lute again.  
  
“If you don’t mind, my throat’s feeling quite parched, but I can see the curious glint in your eyes. Therefore I shall tell you but a part of my story, for it is truly too long of a tale to finish before we shall set out to the Grotto, but please! Where are my manners! As guests, and tired guests at that, I bid you, make yourself comfortable in my humble abode! Lay down… and I will tell you the tale of the Bard and the Merman.”  
  
Dettlaff’s eye twitched, but before the vampire could object Regis lay down first, resting his hand against his now-rounded belly and twisting his head around until his eyes met Dettlaff’s, willing his brother to join him on the floor.  
  
Dettlaff hesitated, but Regis didn’t press him into this matter. It was up to his brother to decide whether to trust Dandelion or not. Dettlaff’s fingers twitched, but finally, after a thorough glanceover of Dandelion, he seemed to come to a decision and lay down. Immediately his eyes fluttered shut and he hummed low in his throat, already on the verge of sleep; it wouldn’t take all too long before he had succumbed fully.  
  
“Please, master bard,” Regis wheedled, “tell us the tale of the Bard and the Merman…”  
  
A change seemed to come over Dandelion as he settled into his bard-persona. His eyes lit up and his voice took on a thralling quality, low, gentle… mesmerising.  
  
“It all started one day, a little over six months ago, when I was travelling towards Ard Skellig to compete in a tournament; a minstrel tournament mind you. After securing my passage, I left Novigrad with nothing but one bag to my name and this lute you see here and the captain and crew welcomed me on board.” Dandelion started fiddling with one of the lute’s pegs, but his eyes darted from Regis to Dettlaff, ensuring that he had a captive audience.  
  
Regis started drifting a bit as he listened to the bard’s gentle voice, seeing the occurrences happening in his mind’s eye as though he was a spectator, capable of viewing the world from the side. He imagined the cloudy sea and the waves breaking along the hull of the ship before the quiet scene turned into a hectic mish mash of shouting as a flock of sirens attacked the ship, tearing at the hull and clawing at the crew members. The ship’s crew had been ill prepared and the number of monsters were too many.  
  
“Oh, if only there had been archers then the whole crisis could have been averted!” Dandelion exclaimed loudly, twisting his hands in front of him and startling Regis out of his doze.  
  
Dettlaff was fast asleep by now and, luckily, slept right through Dandelion’s shout.  
  
Sitting up, Regis made himself more comfortable. He wanted to hear what had happened next and his ploy to get Dettlaff to fall asleep had nearly been his own undoing.  
  
Dandelion nodded at him, seeing he had his full attention and he lowered his voice, speaking with the same mesmerising voice he’d been telling his tale… “The ship was destroyed within minutes, taking everyone on board with it and I would have frozen to death if it hadn’t been for Gwynbleidd…” He huffed and rolled his eyes. “As it was I only half-froze to death and I woke up wearing only my birthday suit and was swaddled in _blood moss _of all things!”  
  
Regis nodded thoughtfully. “That was smart thinking on his part, he couldn’t warm you up any other way and blood moss is known to absorb the sun’s heat, releasing it slowly overnight.”  
  
“Indeed,” Dandelion agreed, “so I’ve learnt. He didn’t know me then, but he stayed with me until I’d woken up… and well after I’d finished screaming at him.” Something about the memory seemed to amuse him, for he got an extremely silly look on his face. “Oh, you should have seen him then, Regis, sulking like a teenager, with his hands clamped over his ears and his wing-fins curling up.”  
  
Regis shrugged his shoulders. “When I greeted him he fled straight back into the water, and then when I tried again he had a similar reaction to what you describe…”  
  
“Yeah,” Dandelion smiled, “I actually think the only thing that prevented him from fleeing was because I was cursing him out in the Elder Speech. And you know, the funniest thing happened… He got this look on his face,” Dandelion pursed his lips and and squinted, as though thinking very hard… clearly an exaggeration of some kind, “and then he started singing verrrrrry slowly, for his kind at least, and from one thing came another and, once I got dressed again, we started talking. He’s actually a big softie once you get to know him better.”  
  
Regis smiled; even with the language barrier he’d gotten that impression. Gwynbleidd’s playful attitude with them both humming and singing in the night… the way he eagerly showed him the stars, telling stories in his language, even though he couldn’t understand him. The scars on the merman’s body told stories on their own, and Regis didn’t doubt that Gwynbleidd had enough reasons to have become embittered and resentful, yet he wasn’t, their nights together had shown him that.  
  
“Your brother must have been exhausted,” Dandelion spoke quietly, his tone indicating it was not yet a question. “Feel free to rest for a bit yourself, I’m heading out to the Grotto in a few hours. Last time I woke Gwynbleidd before noon he, well… I wouldn’t say that he nearly bit my head off, though he well could have, but he turns in an incredible grouch if you wake him up early.”  
  
“From the times I met him I would have guessed his kind to be nocturnal,” Regis pondered.  
  
Dandelion shrugged. “He’s got his own rhythm. Sh’eenaz was definitely diurnal, happily meeting Agloval during daytime…”  
  
Regis perked his ears. “You’ve met other merfolk?”  
  
“Well, yes. There’s a whole underwater city just west of Bremervoord, Ys, it’s called.”  
  
Blinking slowly, Regis decided that the man before him had so much knowledge in him, too much to tell all before they would set out for the Grotto. Grinning, making sure to keep his fangs hidden, he decided that he would come back one day and visit the bard-turned-lighthouse keeper. He always did love a good story… and from all that the man had told him it seemed that Dandelion, indeed, had no trouble understanding Gwynbleidd’s dialect. Perhaps he would be willing to teach him?  
  
“But you are tired, and I’m a bad host for not allowing you your rest. Please, Regis, make yourself comfortable. The only thing I’ll be doing is going down to the water and see what my nets have caught.”  
  
The feeling that Regis got from Dandelion was one of safety, and he sensed that he could trust this particular human. “I thank you for your hospitality, Dandelion.”  
  
Waving his hand at him, Dandelion quietly headed to the door, muttering “Be right back.”  
  
~*~  
  
Regis opened his eyes, surprised to see a human leaning over him and softly calling his name.  
  
“Regis?” The human called, and that’s when Regis remembered the man’s name: Dandelion. “Regis, it’s time to head out now. Will you wake your brother? I mean, best to let sleeping vampires lie, and all that, but we really should head out now…”  
  
Blinking, Regis reached his hand towards Dettlaff, but he stilled before touching him, and a frown settled on his brow. He turned a glare on Dandelion, who held up his hands in appeasement. “What did you say?” He hissed, feeling his hackles rise. He shifted a bit, blocking the human’s view of Dettlaff.  
  
“Easy, Regis, man you guys really can’t take a joke,” Dandelion muttered. There was a small tremble in his voice, but the bard kept his body language relaxed and non-threatening. “There’s only one race I know of that can turn into a puff of fog… especially one that looks human, has such large and sharp nails and, my friend, let’s not forget, enormous, razor-sharp fangs.” The man groaned and rolled his eyes. “Somehow I am always surrounded by people who just can’t appreciate a good joke,” he lamented theatrically, and that was actually the thing that soothed Regis’ nerves.  
  
“I… apologise,” Regis started, “this is the first time a human has deduced I’m not one of them.”  
  
Calming down, Dandelion nervously smiled at him. “Well, if you hadn’t confirmed who you were I wouldn’t have guessed as easily. And you know Gwynbleidd… when he’s not sulking he’s continuously singing stories, telling one thing, then the next. You impressed him when you turned into a dark fog and he asked me if that was normal behaviour for land-dwellers.”  
  
“For these land-dwellers, it is,” Dettlaff’s low voice spoke up from behind him and Regis turned, both surprised and glad to see that his brother was calm and relaxed. “Your yoghurt lacked a substantial amount of garlic, Dandelion.” He gave the bard a crooked smile. “I missed the flavour…”  
  
Dandelion’s eyebrows shot up. “So you noticed! Oh, I’ve been _dying _to ask you guys what’s it like. Which stories are true and which are not! So garlic you mention, you can actually eat that? And silver, what about-”  
  
Regis placed his hand over Dandelion’s mouth, stilling the bard’s words. Grinning widely, allowing Dandelion a _very _good look at his fangs, Regis wiggled his eyebrows, feeling playful. “It seem that we will be seeing more of each other, friend Dandelion. You’ve got stories,… and we’ve got stories… Perhaps we could perform… an exchange?”  
  
Dandelion grasped his wrist, pulling Regis’ hand down. “You, my two new friends, have got yourselves a deal!” There was excitement in his voice and the bard seemed to vibrate in his spot.  
  
“Gwynbleidd…” Dettlaff drawled. “You mentioned it was time to visit him?”  
  
Sighing, Dandelion nodded with mock sorrow. “Ah, you are right. Now is not the time and place for these stories. Please, I’ve already loaded up my boat, we’re all set to go…”  
  
~*~  
  
It was late in the afternoon when Dandelion diverted his little boat closer to the shoreline, towards an impressive mountain slope. At first, Regis couldn’t see anything, but the moment that they sailed past one of the rocky slopes he could see a dark hole in the rock. A cave.  
  
Dandelion moored the boat as close to the cave entrance as he could, apparently having found a good spot where they could step out without having to swim, as he took off his shoes, rolled up his trousers, and exited the boat; the water reaching to just below his knees. “Welcome to the Grotto, temporary abode to one grouchy, disgruntled merman…” he said jovially, taking two pails of de-tailed fish out of the boat. “Follow me… by now I’ve stumbled upon enough of the deeper parts to know which ones to avoid, lest I want to swim in this icy water. Bring the extra bag, would you? I’ve packed us some dinner and some snacks…”  
  
The two followed him into the cave, taking care not to get their own bags wet; they’d both felt uncomfortable leaving their belongings behind, after all, it was all they had right now… and the bard had shown remarkable foresight into packing them some additional food.  
  
Regis remarked on the Grotto’s inner lighting; with the sun on the other side of the island now the cave must be nearly pitch dark for human eyes, well, save for some patches of green light; a type of phospherous moss. To his eyes, and no doubt Dettlaff’s, it actually created a soothing atmosphere.  
  
Their guide and new friend had only some difficulty traversing the shallows in the near-dark, but he’d spoken true and didn’t misstep into one of the deeper parts.  
  
Regis could see the cave clearly with the minimum amount of light filtering in, noticing that on both sides of the cave there was an rock plateau leading upwards, offering a ledge a bit above the water level for someone to sit on. There was a low slushing, or a gurgling, coming to the right, and Regis noticed that the cave turned darker in that direction; no doubt a tunnel system of some sort.  
  
There was no sign of Gwynbleidd though and Regis could feel his heart start beating wildly again. The cave was too quiet. Like there was a predator about, lying in wait, not like there was an injured friend hiding away while recovering from his injuries.  
  
“Gwynbleidd.” Dandelion called out in his normal voice once he’d stepped on the rocky ledge. “_Are you awake? Look who showed up on my doorstep? Or well, actually, down the steps of the lighthouse, but that’s just fussy details…_”  
  
Regis was impressed at the man’s fluid grasp of apparently a Hen Linge dialect. He put a light hand on the man’s elbow, stepping onto the rock as well. “Are you sure he’s in there? Perhaps he left…”  
  
Dandelion shook his head. “Oh, he’s in here, all right. At best, still asleep, at worst, planning to-”  
  
Regis heard a low hiss, followed by a watery splash. “Gwynbleidd?” He called, making sure to keep his voice down.  
  
Dettlaff’s groan and another splash alerted Regis and he immediately looked over, seeing his packmate holding on to what must be Gwynbleidd, though his friend’s face was twisted into what Dandelion had described as his ‘war face’. The seashell necklace hanging from his neck and the extremely pale colourations confirmed his identity though: this was his friend.  
  
Dettlaff held on, carefully, enfolding the merman closely within his arms, but making sure to keep Gwynbleidd’s razor sharp fangs well away from his neck. “_We are friends_,” Dettlaff said calmly in Hen Linge, having no difficulty at all keeping the merman in place, “_if you look to your left I’m sure you’ll recognise Regis, don’t you, Gwynbleidd?_”  
  
It must have been the combination of Hen Linge and hearing his name that got Gwynbleidd to calm down and do as Dettlaff suggested and, seeing Regis, the merman immediately sagged against Dettlaff’s body. Regis could see the small trembles running through the pale form though, his wing-fins restlessly fluttering against Dettlaff’s arms that now held him in a loose embrace. The merman looked wrecked…  
  
“Gwynbleidd!” Dandelion ran up to him, worry written all over his face as he hesitantly reached out to his friend.  
  
“Gwynbleidd?” Regis called out at the same time, rushing back into the water until he stood next to Dettlaff.  
  
The merman stilled, keeping his eyes focused on Regis, and his form shifted until he was in the one Regis had become familiar with.  
  
“_We are friends_,” Dettlaff reiterated as he slowly loosened his hold further, letting the merman go if he wished it, and offering him something to lean on in the meanwhile.  
  
After a few moments, Gwynbleidd jerkily nodded his head and, slowly, hesitantly, patted Dettlaff’s chest. “_I apologise for attacking you. Thought Dandelion was in trouble…_”  
  
Dandelion, standing in front of the pair, snorted. “**_I’m _**_the one in trouble? My friend, I should write down my memoirs of how I, Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, otherwise known as Dande-”   
  
_Gwynbleidd had carefully put his hand over Dandelion’s mouth, an annoyed look on his face as he rolled his eyes. “_Yes yes, you are my saviour, Juleen Alfrett Pannkrazz,_” his nose twitched, “_and you have my heartfelt thanks… always you proctecting me, **never **the other way around…_” He lifted a sardonic eyebrow at the bard before slowly pulling back his hand, as if trying to see whether Dandelion would pick up his affronted ranting again.  
  
When Dandelion stayed silent though, only shooting him a wide grin, Gwynbleidd huffed and turned towards Regis. Seeing him, his eyes lit up and he… slithered?… the small distance towards him, stretching himself as high as he could reach, balancing on the shallow ledge, his tail still covered by a small layer of water. The merman’s eyes shone with pleased recognition. _“Reejus!”_ He sang.  
  
_“Hello, dear friend,”_ Regis said, hoping his pronunciation of Hen Linge was clear enough for the merman. _“I’m glad to see you again.”_  
  
Gwynbleidd’s excitement was apparent in the way he started sing-talking excitedly before jumping into the deeper part of the water. Then he returned and curled up in the shallows again, gesturing wildly towards Dandelion and Dettlaff and then waiting expectantly, as though awaiting a reply.  
  
Regis held up his hands, a smile pulling at his face. _“Please, slow, Gwynbleidd… I still have difficulties with the fluidity of your language, and your particular dialect.”_  
  
_“Reejus, you speak!”_ Gwynbleidd trilled happily, singing slowly, but excited. His tail twitched as he looked towards Dettlaff and his shoulders hunched a bit; he was obviously wary of the newcomer who’d managed to hold on to him so easily. _“And who is this?”_  
  
_“My name is Dettlaff,”_ the vampire spoke up for himself, “_Regis’ _packmate_…_ _family_.”  
  
The merman nodded. _“Family is important._ _Dettlaff…”_ Gwynbleidd turned his gaze back on Regis. _“You mentioned_ _Dettlaff_ _the night you left. You were worried, sad_._”_ Golden eyes roved over the young vampire. _“Are you all right? I don’t mean from…” _He wiggled his claws, his meaning clear.  
  
Looking back at Regis, a fond smile appeared on Dettlaff’s face. _“I am… getting better. Regis is helping.”_  
  
Regis stepped close to his brother until he was nearly brushing up against his side. _“There’s much to tell you, but for now we came looking for you.”_ Relief settled in his heart at seeing his friend. _“The people of Skellige have been speaking of you, they’ve missed you and your singing.”_  
  
Golden eyes flashed in the dark. _“There was a man,” _he snorted with disgust,_ “a boy… who made me realise that I can’t trust land-dwellers. I…”_ He shrugged. _“I can’t return to the Wiggling Fingers.”_ Gwynbleidd cocked his head, confusion and wonder on his face. _“But there was another man, much furrier. He saved my life…”_ He stilled, furtively glancing at his own tail; though not furtive enough for Regis not to catch the small move.  
  
Following his friend’s gaze, Regis could only see a part of Gwynbleidd’s tail sticking up out of the water and, already on this part, he could see the marks the netting, no doubt wire-infused rope, had left behind. Regis let his eyes rove over the merman’s chest, pleased to see no new scars had appeared there and that the wire mesh hadn’t been able to damage the skin. Apparently his tail was much more fragile than it looked.  
  
Gwynbleidd did look exhausted though, despite him sleeping quite a lot, as Dandelion had informed them. Regis wondered if he had nightmares that could be soothed with one of his draughts, or whether it was his friend’s natural healing process that caused him to be so exhausted, but one thing was for certain: he hadn’t eaten yet, and Dandelion had brought two pails full of fish with him to the Grotto.  
  
_“You must be hungry,”_ Regis spoke quietly, mindful of his friend’s sensitive hearing. He nodded towards the bard, who’d sat down on the rocky ledge well above the water line, and noticed that Dettlaff had joined him up there, leaving only Regis standing in the water. Dandelion tapped one of the containers next to him; a clear invitation.   
  
_“Dandelion’s been helping me,”_ Gwynbleidd spoke, slowly moving towards the human and taking one of the pails, immediately reaching in for one of the fish and stilling. _“Do you… do you want any?”_ He held out his pail to Regis, glancing back over his shoulder towards Dettlaff and Dandelion.  
  
Feeling a twinge in his heart at his friend’s thoughtful offer, Regis patted his belly and gently shook his head. _“We are fine, thank you. Dandelion’s been an excellent host and we’ve had food at his place.”_ He walked over and joined his companions on their rocky ledge, placing his bag down beside Dettlaff’s. _“And he’s packed us dinner!”_  
  
Nodding, clearly satisfied by that reply, Gwynbleidd nearly devoured the first pail in only a few minutes, and then he reached for the second pail, still devouring that, but at a calmer pace. And, true to Dandelion’s earlier words, Gwynbleidd seemed to adore the fishheads, taking his time to suck out the eyes and nibbling away on the cheeks.  
  
Dandelion started fiddling with a loose thread on his trousers and his eyes squinted as he tried to pierce the darkness. _“How are you feeling, my friend? Still tired? And how’s your tail?”  
_  
Regis saw the gleam of golden eyes as Gwynbleidd looked over at them, and the merman’s tail flicked, once, splashing the water in their direction. _“I’m fine,”_ he sang slowly.  
  
Dandelion twisted around a bit until he sat on his knees and then he gripped the edge of their rocky ledge and leaned forward, and, for the first time, Regis saw exasperation in his eyes. _“That’s what you tell me every day, and we both know it’s not true. Please, Gwynbleidd…”  
_  
The merman shrugged and, after carefully arranging both empty pails, placing them just out of the water, swam into the deeper part of the cave until he was right in front of him; only the top half of his pale head sticking up from the water’s surface.  
  
“You see, Regis, Dettlaff?” Dandelion asked in the Common Tongue, pointing at the water. “This here is Gwynbleidd sulking…”  
  
Another tail flick left Dandelion soaked from top to toe.  
  
_“Oh funny, ha ha,”_ Dandelion groused, switching back to Hen Linge.  
  
Regis, who could clearly see Gwynbleidd’s panicked expression, moved over to the ledge and sat down, dangling his feet from the edge and watching as his toes barely touched the water’s surface. There was worry on the merman’s face, and a bit of guilt if he was seeing things correctly, and the swiftly shifting eyes spoke of his hesitance and his panic both at once. _“Gwynbleidd… I would feel better if I could see for myself that you are all right. I’m a…_” What was the word again? Ah well, there were simpler words to convey this… _“I’m a healer. If you allow me a look…? I may be able to help.”  
_  
Gwynbleidd’s eyes drifted over towards their ledge before turning sorrowful and Regis got the feeling that the merman wanted to comply with their request, he just feared the painful trek up and onto the ledge. Well, he could do something about that, now couldn’t he? _“I can carry you up here, if you allow me,”_ he offered, _“just move a bit farther into the shallows and I can pick you up, instead of dragging you up from here.”_  
  
The tips of what must be Gwynbleidd’s wing-fins emerged from the water, a clear sign of his agitation, but, after a moment, he swam to the cave entrance, at the beginning of where the rock plateau rose from the water.  
  
Hurrying over, Regis looked at the merman as he tried to figure out how best to pick him up. One hand clearly needed to support him behind his back, but would he be able to hold on to Gwynbleidd’s tail well enough without it slipping from his grip? It wasn’t exactly slimy, that Regis remembered well enough from their nights spent at the Giants’ Toes, but it was wet still and smooth… _“All right, Gwynbleidd. Please grab onto my shoulders, it’ll make this a bit easier.”_  
  
Regis waited until Gwynbleidd had a good grip before lifting the merman into his arms. He frowned, feeling the weight in his arms; it seemed like his friend had lost weight. _“Good man,”_ he reassured, taking a few steps until he could settle his friend down safely. _“Tell me if I hurt you, for that is **not **my intention.”_ Regis’ eyes flitted over the pale form, taking in the mesh-pattern criscrossing the long tail. His friend missed some scales, and his caudal fin missed a chunk that had been there at least one year ago, but he had no bleeding wounds. Gwynbleidd must have struggled wildly to cause this much damage, and in the end his struggles had been useless; he’d washed up ashore and had been found by a human… _anyone_ could have stumbled upon him. Regis shuddered, glad that it had been someone like Crach and not the Loon, or those Kraki and Kori characters, now they spelled trouble from a thousand yards off…  
  
Regis felt a bit out of sorts, seeing the tail before him, and he lightly, a bit hesitantly, ran his fingers over it, trying to feel for something _off_; any spots that seemed too soft, or, too hard, or that felt wrong in any other way.  
  
Just as he thought that, Gwynbleidd shifted his tail, curling it towards him in one smooth move, though a wince appeared on his face. _“The wounds have closed, I just feel like one big bruise now…”_ His shoulders jerked upwards and Regis stilled his hand; was Gwynbleidd _ticklish?  
_  
_“The one on your side too?”_ Dandelion piped up, keeping out of the way, seeing as their space was cramped enough already.  
  
_“My side as well,”_ Gwynbleidd confirmed. _“I told you, I heal fast…”_  
  
_“And it requires an enormous amount of energy,”_ Dandelion nodded. _“I am glad you are on the mend, you old fish.”  
_  
That earned him a clearly annoyed glare and the merman hissed, though it sounded playful. _“Well enough to soon be luring you out into the sea so I can drown and eat you,”_ he sang slowly, a mischievous glint in his eyes.  
  
Regis carefully continued his examiniation, feeling less like ah, well, like a fish out of water, when he examined Gwynbleidd’s torso. The merman’s skin felt cool to the touch, but he was a creature of the sea, and he’d been cool to the touch before as well. Nothing unusual there… _“Notice anything wrong that I should be aware of?”_ Regis asked, fairly certain that at this stage there was nothing he could do. Gwynbleidd’s cuts and bruises were apparently healing at a remarkable rate, and the best thing for him now would be to be doing what he had been doing for the last couple of days: rest, eat, and recover…  
  
Gwynbleidd sighed and stared at him for a bit before shaking his head, turning it into a hesitant nod halfway through. _“I have trouble sleeping,”_ he admitted so quietly that Regis nearly missed it. _“I fall asleep, and then I wake up, again and again, **suffocating **on dry land.”_ A shudder ran through the pale body. _“Are you satisfied now?”_ He asked, louder. _“Can I return to the water… please?”  
_  
The _‘please’_ broke Regis’ heart and he immediately shifted around, already reaching over to pick him up again. _“Of course, Gwynbleidd. Let me help you.”_ And gently, so very careful, Regis took his friend back into his arms and carried him into the water, going all the way into the deep end where the water reached his chest before slowly releasing his hold, letting the merman swim away. And then he realised…  
  
He’d been so foolish.  
  
Regis’ mind started scolding him for asking a sea creature who’d been suffocating on dry land for two days to come up out of the water.  
  
A cool hand settled on his shoulder, and Gwynbleidd’s face appeared in front of his. _“I knew you wouldn’t keep me up there too long.”_ A wry grin appeared on his face, clearly showing his fangs. _“You know I can stay out of the water for longer than that, remember our nights?”_ The merman reached up and carefully touched Regis’ temple.  
  
Regis sighed. _“I remember… as for your sleep, I have something on me that could help? A mild _analgesic_.”_ Oh, he was saying it wrong. _“It uh… it helps you stay asleep? Helps to calm you?”_ He finished, blushing at his lame explanation. At any rate he was glad that ever since he’d been training with Gremist he carried some supplies in his ever trusty shoulder satchel.  
  
Gwynbleidd cocked his head at him, narrowing his gaze before shaking his head. _“I can’t…” _His eyes flicked over towards the cave entrance, the haunted look returning in them_. “What if another one like the human boy comes while I’m asleep?”  
  
“You know this place can only be accessed by boat,”_ Dandelion countered, _“the chances of that happening are extremely small.”  
_  
Dettlaff growled beside Dandelion, revealing his own fangs. _“The chances…”_ the vampire gritted out, _“do not matter. The chance that one of the islanders went up and blew a horn were small as well, the people adore their Lonely Merman, but still it happened.”  
_  
Regis spotted Dandelion reaching out to the young vampire, lightly patting his upper arm. _“My apologies, Dettlaff. I didn’t mean it that way. I was just trying to reassure Gwynbleidd.”  
_  
_“Perhaps…”_ Dettlaff’s eyes gleamed green from the moss’ reflection as he turned his head towards Regis, no, towards Gwynbleidd, _“would you be more comfortable if we stayed around while you sleep?”_  
  
Gwynbleidd got a thoughtful look on his face as he mulled over what was being offered. _“You and Regis **are **very strong…” _His eyes turned slitted and he sized them up, and his tail lazily flicked behind him. When his gaze settled on Dandelion though his entire composure softened at seeing the bard’s hopeful look and he seemed to shrink in on himself before finally nodding. _“I’m… willing to try it… if you stay?” _  
  
Dandelion swallowed heavily and one corner of his mouth twitched. He looked sad, as if only now realising that he’d let his friend down in this important matter.  
  
_“Dandelion…”_ Gwynbleid huffed, swimming over to the ledge and lifting his hand as high as he could. _“We both know you’re not a warrior. I know you would fight, but these land-dwellers are strong and well armed. I don’t want you to get hurt… Not for me.”  
_  
Sighing, Dandelion caught the merman’s hand, rubbing lightly over the webbing as he leaned a bit farther over the ledge. _“Stupid old fish,”_ he muttered, _“who else should I get hurt for, huh?”_  
  
_“Dandelion,”_ Gwynbleidd hissed.  
  
_“Fine, fine. I love you too,”_ Dandelion squeezed the merman’s hand one final time before slowly letting go and standing up, reaching for the bag with their provisions.  
  
The meal Dandelion had packed was a simple, but tasty one, and the bard even surprised Gwynbleidd by taking out a package, unwrapping the piece of oilcloth to reveal an enormous cod, tail removed, of course. The pleased grin Dandelion received for that threatened to split Gwynbleidd’s face in half, the merman was _that _pleased.  
  
They ate in companionable silence, only a word thrown in here and there to comment on the flavours and then they settled down on the ledge, feeling full and sated.  
  
Soon after finishing his big treat, Gwynbleidd started blinking tiredly and he clearly had some difficulties in keeping his head above the water, nodding off where he was, ready for some more sleep.  
  
Dandelion smiled fondly at him and pushed the bag with provisions, still half-way full, towards Dettlaff. “There’s more in that, didn’t know if you ate like _him _or not, but I hope it’ll last you until I return,” he told them, speaking barely above a whisper.  
  
Regis nodded at him, and watched as Dettlaff pushed the bag farther up on the ledge. “Many thanks, Dandelion. I’m sure it shall suffice. And if not, Dettlaff or I can swirl out and fetch something to eat…”  
  
The human blinked. “Of course… _vampire._” Standing up, Dandelion walked down the ledge, drawing Gwynbleidd’s attention towards him. The merman perked up and lazily swam towards him, humming lightly under his breath.  
  
Regis was pleased. This meant that he was feeling safe.  
  
Looking at his friend, Dandelion put his hand over his heart and ducked his head. _“It’s getting late, dear friend, but I feel so much better about having to leave you here, in the very capable, very **dangerous **hands of these two kind _vampires_. And I’m even more pleased that, for once, I’m not being shooed out by your grumpy face!”_  
  
_“Love you too, Dandelion,”_ Gwynbleidd drawled, yawning widely.  
  
Dandelion’s head bobbed a bit as he mimicked the merman’s drawl and he waved a hand in the air. _“Yeah yeah, I’ll come back tomorrow, as soon as I’ve had some sleep after my shift. I need to take care of the lighthouse now.”_  
  
A squeak escaped the merman. _“When the sun’s still rising? Dandelion!”_  
  
The bard shrugged and lifted his hands, palms upwards. _“You shouldn’t sleep the day away, Gwynbleidd, that would be incredibly rude to your guests.”_  
  
_“My kind **sleeps** during the day!”_ Gwynbleidd sang shrilly.  
  
_“I know a mermaid who told me otherwise,”_ Dandelion countered, gathering the empty pails left at the cave entrance. The bard looked back at the three of them, and a fond smile settled on his face as he looked at Gwynbleidd. _“I wish you pleasant dreams, dear friend._ Regis, Dettlaff… please watch out for him,” he finished in the Common Tongue.  
  
Dettlaff breathed in sharply, but before he could say anything Regis shot him a _look. _“We will, Dandelion. He’s in good hands here…”_  
  
_Nodding, Dandelion disappeared. A moment later he passed by them, sailing away in his little boat.  
  
Loosening the buckle holding his shoulder satchel closed, Regis fished around the compartments until he found the vial he’d be’d been searching for. Just a few drops of this and Gwynbleidd, if he reacted to this like a human, would enjoy a pleasant, dreamless sleep. Regis was pretty sure it wouldn’t harm his friend, after all, he’d handled his mandrake cordial well enough and this vial contained the same ingredients. _“Come closer and open your mouth, please, I’ll just place three drops on your tongue…”_  
  
Doing as he was bid, Gwynbleidd scrunched up his nose at the taste and swam away, pulling himself onto a hidden ledge on the far side of the cave. He curled up there, and blinked tiredly. If he stretched out, instead of curling up like some kind of water-snake, his body would be completely submerged. Regis noticed the place gave him an excellent view of the cave entrance; Gwynbleidd must have been lying there when they entered the cave, observing…  
  
_“Reejus?”_ Gwynbleidd asked, yawning and rubbing an eye, “_what’s a_ vam-purr_?”_  
  
Regis looked towards Dettlaff, and he felt a warmth settling in his chest as he started telling Gwynbleidd about their kind.  
  
He didn’t suppose that Gwynbleidd would remember much of it though, for his friend had drifted off not one minute after Regis started his tale, his low voice and, admittedly, a gentle nudge of his power, lulling the merman into a deep and dreamless sleep. Regis heard the moment Gwynbleidd’s heartbeat slowed and he quietly moved into the water and, after making sure the merman could indeed lay full-out on his chosen ledge, uncurled him from his coils and positioned him better on top of his watery ledge, pleased to see that the water was covering him fully.  
  
“That…” Dettlaff stated quietly, “is one of the singular oddest things I’ve ever seen you do.”  
  
Turning into mist, Regis quickly swirled up and out of the water, materialising next to Dettlaff. His clothes were still damp, but they would dry, and he was sure Dettlaf didn’t mind the wet patch he was creating as he leaned against his side.  
  
Tomorrow would bring a new day… and apparently a bard-turned-lighthouse-keeper, ready to wake up a disgruntled not-diurnal-but-nocturnal (when he was in full health) merman.  
  
Regis felt something settling in his heart, and it was telling him that, while Dettlaff had lost nearly his entire pack, he and Siarra were no longer the only ones remaining of said pack… No, he was sure that after today, their little pack had been extended by two other creatures. He smirked. Dettlaff already had a tendency to collect odd strays, and now, through Regis, his tradition lived on.  
  
Yes, Regis felt… this was the start of a new pack, here on Ard Skellig… A pack that he and Dettlaff would extend, _together… _And knowing them, they’d adopt more odd ones, ones that were a bit broken (Regis had _seen _the look in Dandelion’s eyes and he was sure of this), but _their pack _nonetheless.  
  
Regis felt Dettlaff’s arm coming up around his shoulder, pulling him in closer and placing him in a good position to rest his head on the young vampire’s chest. Regis breathed in deeply, soothed by the scent, before looking over to the spot Gwynbleidd lay sleeping. They’d promised him that they’d watch over him as he slept, and so they would.  
  
Regis had no illusions about either of his companions’ mental wellbeing; they had each suffered their own trauma, but they were _pack _now. And pack looked out for each other…  
  
They just needed to decide on a place to live now, somewhere with not too many humans around, and close to the water; after all, if Gwynbleidd decided to hang around the isle he’d need a comfortable and _safe_ place to call home… they all did.  
  
Regis started humming softly as he tried to come up with good locations on any of the Skellige Isles to call home. Perhaps the ancient crypt hidden away between the mountain slopes north of the island? After all, even the brave and mad Skelligers refused to go there. Or perhaps near another partially submerged cave? Not too far from Hindarsfjall, though, after all, Gwynbleidd was very likely still awaiting word of his brothers… but if Regis wanted to practice as a barber surgeon he couldn’t be too far removed from the human villages. Hmm…  
  
Dettlaff nuzzled the top of his head. “What’s going through your mind, Regis?”   
  
Regis blinked. “Huh?”  
  
“You hum when you’re deep in thought.”   
  
Regis patted Dettlaff’s leg. "I was thinking of places to settle down.”  
  
“Hnnng. Close to the water, I presume?”  
  
“Not too accessible for humans, but I _would_ like to set up a barber surgeon's practice here on this island.”  
  
Dettlaff released a sigh. “We shall circle the island and see if we can find a good spot for our new home.”  
  
“Our new home,” Regis sighed, “I like the sound of that.”  
  
**The end**

**Author's Note:**

> While Gwynbleidd speaks a dialect of Hen Linge, Regis and Dettlaff have been studying this language and the vampires are quick to make connections between Hen Linge and Gwynbleidd’s dialect. Gwynbleidd’s making the connections in the opposite direction, realising they’re speaking a more rudimentary version of his language and making do.  
Dandelion’s introductory scene is a very great nod to the existing material – of course…


End file.
